


Figment of Imagination

by apicturewithasmile



Category: The Mrs Bradley Mysteries (TV)
Genre: Autoerotic Asphyxiation, F/M, Masturbation, Voyeurism, fantasising of some light bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:46:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27687806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apicturewithasmile/pseuds/apicturewithasmile
Summary: George can't keep his mind from fantasising about Adela and eventually gives in to his needs. Unbeknownst to him, Adela watches from the sidelines.
Relationships: Adela Bradley/George Moody
Comments: 4
Kudos: 4





	1. George

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place during the third episode, "Rising of the Moon", and works neatly as a prequel to my other Mrs. Bradley fic "Inappropriate relations".

George Moody sat down on his bed after another exciting yet also rather long day. When he had initially applied for the position of personal chauffeur of Adela Bradley, he expected to be spending most of his work day on his buttocks instead of his feet. How glad he was now to have been wrong with this assumption.

It would be too simplified to describe his relationship to Mrs. Bradley as nothing more than working for her. Instead, on plenty occasions over the years, he had had the honour of working _with_ her; solving crime, catching thieves and murderers – more a pastime for her than a business. For George, as much as it embarrassed him to admit this, the pleasure came mostly from spending time with her, helping her, maybe sometimes even impressing her with his sleuthing skills. The fact that she would always compensate generously for every minute of over-time was an added bonus that he didn’t dare to decline. His pay cheque served as a monthly reminder that breaching the boundaries of professional distance was most inadequate. For that purpose and that alone, getting paid by Bradley money was most welcome. But as an incentive all he needed was her presence, her wit, her humour and the occasional “well done” and “thank you”.

Now there was this nasty business with the travelling show – Inspector Christmas had called for her help, fair enough. But George didn’t like that man one bit and how he tried to claim a place on Adela’s side. Right in this very moment she was downstairs at the bar drinking, laughing, enjoying the company of this man who was, if still not exactly in her class, nevertheless of higher regard in society than a chauffeur. Of course she had asked George to join them for a drink but he had had enough of being the third wheel and said goodnight.

At least he had some rather luxurious accommodation to look forward to. This countryside hotel – small but nonetheless awarded two Michelin stars and working hard towards a third – had been fully booked except for its “Royal Suite” which consisted of two symmetrical but otherwise identical bedrooms, connected in the middle through a shared bathroom that could be accessed from either side. George knew full well that any other employer would have had their chauffeur make sleeping arrangements in the hotel staff’s quarters, but that was not how Adela Bradley handled things.

“Why should we let a perfectly good room stay empty? That’s silly!” she had said at the reception upon arrival and with that George was granted the luxury of a king size bed and en suite bathroom – all-inclusive with the begrudging looks from hotel staff and disapproving whispers from other guests.

He convinced himself that he didn’t care about those people and went to the bathroom to freshen up before going to sleep. As he stood by the sink splashing water into his face he remembered another thing Adela had said earlier today: “George, I need your body.”

He blushed as those words came back into his mind and for the hundredth time today he wondered if she had felt _it_ when she pulled that knife out from between his legs. Her hand had brushed against his trousers in the slightest of gestures – too faint, he hoped, for her to notice anything. But shivers trickled down his spine again at the mere thought of Adela Bradley’s delicate hand getting this close to his hardened–

He shook his head and threw his own reflection in the mirror a look as if to warn himself not to finish that thought. _Just go to bed, George, sleep and forget about it!_

Going to bed was the easy part but the sleeping and forgetting he struggled with. Whenever he closed his eyes he was back again, strapped to that wooden board, Adela’s face up close, her eyes fixed on his while her hand followed a determined path towards his crotch. As much as he tried to fight it, he couldn’t help but uncover a secret about himself that he had kept successfully hidden up until now: he desired her, deeply. And all of a sudden he found himself hoping that she _had_ noticed his arousal and that maybe, just maybe, she was the slightest bit delighted by it. Not that anything would ever happen between them, that he was sure of. But he could entertain a thought or two, couldn’t he? No harm done, no societal status lost for either of them by indulging in a little fantasy. He could flush it out of his system and she would never have to know.

He was thinking about her hands again in those red leather gloves – they made her look so sophisticated and a little strict. What they would feel like on his skin? No longer able or even at all _willing_ to restrain himself, his own hands found their way under the sheets and pulled his underpants down. Then he imagined himself tied up against a wall, unable to move, helplessly at her mercy, but this time there were no onlookers and bystanders when she pulled the knife away; they were all alone, just the two of them, and her gloved fingers weren’t merely brushing against the fabric of his trousers but instead wrapped firmly around his exposed erection. Her other hand, he imagined, would tighten around his throat.

As he was fully engulfed by this fantasy his own hands acted out what in his mind was done by her. However, he couldn’t help but be aware that squeezing his own throat wasn’t at all comparable to being choked by someone else, for his instincts would make him loosen his grip so much faster than she would if she weren’t just a figment of his imagination.

Then he had an idea, not entirely without risk but he was willing to take it. He climbed out of the bed, and rushed towards his suitcase that was resting on a small chest of drawers. He didn’t carry much clothing with him when they travelled as mostly he just needed his uniform. But with the adventurous life he led thanks to Mrs. Bradley’s company you’d never know when the occasion called for him to dress up, so he never went on a voyage with her without bringing his one nice suit, a fresh button-down shirt, clean and polished brogues and the very accessory he was now trying to find in the moonlit darkness of this room: a silk tie – Christmas gift from Adela.

 _Christmas – what kind of silly family name is that even?_ He furrowed his brow, reminded once again of the Inspector and his audacity to repeatedly get a perfectly normal name like Moody wrong, meanwhile bearing the most ludicrous name George had ever heard.

Eventually he felt the smooth and cold silk between his fingertips and pulled the tie out from a pile of clothes that would have to be refolded tomorrow. Inspector Christmas was forgotten again as George pulled the tie – still left in a knot from last time he had worn it – over his head. He lay back down on his bed above the crumpled sheets and pulled the cravat tightly around his neck, took a few deep breaths, then tightened it even more.


	2. Adela

Adela finished her cocktail and said goodbye to Henry Christmas. The Inspector had proven to be a rather charming companion for a night-time drink and chat about all things crime and the psychological oddities that can lead a human mind to commit any such atrocity like cold-blooded murder. But as much fun as the evening had been, she knew there would be a long day ahead and so she declined his offer of a second drink and called it a night.

While she was walking the stairs to the upper floor she thought about George and the look on his face when he left her and the Inspector alone. Closed off, sulky, George Moody – boy, could he live up to his name sometimes! She took a mental note to talk to him about it tomorrow.

She stepped into her room and turned on the bedside lamp, then took off her jewellery and put it on top of the small chest of drawers which was currently containing her foldable clothes. The more delicate dresses she had taken with her had been hung up neatly on hangers in a large cherrywood closet.

Then she stepped into the bathroom with the intention of cleaning off her make-up before going to bed which was when she noticed that the door on the other side of the bathroom – the one that led to George’s bedroom – was left ajar. She went to close it, quietly as not to wake him, but when she reached the door she could hear something, a noise most intriguing to her ear: someone breathing heavily; no, not breathing but rather _gasping_ for air. In her mind she could only think of two scenarios: either George was in imminent danger of being suffocated, possibly by the very murderer they were trying to catch, or he was indeed enjoying his time alone in a king size bed to the fullest. In fact, Adela considered the latter to be the much more likely explanation for these sounds but she couldn’t afford to take chances here, she had to make sure.

She turned off the light in the bathroom, then ever so slightly pushed the door open just enough for her to slip into his room unnoticed. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness but she quickly realised to her own relief that there was no intruder to be found here – save for herself. Like so often in life when faced with two possible answers to a question, the more likely one proved to be true. Now the decent thing to do would have been to quietly slip away and let him have his private moment, but her curious nature got the better of her and curiosity didn’t always go hand in hand with decency.

Careful not to make a sound she tiptoed to the large closet to her left – a twin to the one in her own room – behind which she could observe without risk of being seen. A beam of pale moonlight threw long shadows across the room and offered just enough light to paint a most interesting picture for her to see.

On the bed, about ten feet away from her hiding place, lay a stark naked George. That itself was not an entirely new discovery for her, after all she had had the pleasure of seeing rather a lot of his unclothed body just a few months back. However, this was quite a different kind of nudity than seeing him pose for half a dozen young women in a figure drawing class. No, this here was a much more intimate scene to behold; some might even call it obscene.

There appeared to be something wrapped around his neck though, a piece of fabric with a familiarity to it that she couldn’t quite put a finger on. Then as he threw his head back in pleasure and the light hit the fabric at a slightly different angle she recognised the pattern as that of a beautiful and rather expensive silken tie she had given to him on the first Christmas that he had been in her employment. It was only shortly after that, when she learned that nothing made George Moody more grateful than the gift of a good leather-bound book. Still, he wore that tie frequently and she always liked to see him wear it. Especially right now. Funny how wearing that one piece of clothing made him seem even more naked than he would without it. That’s when she realised she was witness to a sexual proclivity of a particularly deviant nature. Anyone else in her place might have been shocked, disgusted even, but not Adela Bradley. She knew too well of the various unorthodox practices some people resorted to with the sole intention of heightening their sexual arousal. Some of which – albeit not the art of autoerotic asphyxiation – she had tried herself.

Now her eyes lingered on his right hand which, with ever increasing vigour, jerked up and down the length of his cock – merely a shadowy outline in the nightly dark. At the same time his breathing, the very noise which caused her to investigate and stumble upon this tableau in the first place, got faster and heavier even than before. Adela looked back and forth from his face to his crotch; uncertain what she was more interested in. A few seconds later an almost silent word escaped his lips in between two gasps – “Adela.”

She pressed her body even tighter against the closet. He couldn’t have noticed her, could he? Impossible. Maybe she had misheard? No, he had clearly said her name. But before the gravity of this involuntary revelation could sink in, she saw how his body began to spasm and then, as he was frantically loosening the tie around his neck, he reached his climax, covering his stomach in droplets of white liquid.

A part of her wanted nothing but to stay and further observe what he was going to do next but she knew he would probably turn on the light, maybe even go to the bathroom to clean himself up, so she had to get away fast.

Careful not to bump into anything she went back the way she came and just as she quietly closed the bathroom door behind her, she could see through the gap under the door that a light had been turned on in his room.

With a pounding heart she sat down on her bed and let herself fall back into the mattress overwhelmed by all the implications of having heard her name spoken with such passion in a voice no other than that of her dearest chauffeur and friend.


End file.
